


all in how you mix the two (in your eyes)

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I saw the boys you pulled last summer. Harry’s just like them: all big eyes and even bigger hair. Looks like he thinks he’s the second coming of Mick Jagger.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or, the one where the lads all work at a country club/resort during the summers and Zayn- about to begin his last year at uni- meets and maybe falls for Harry- in his last summer before uni himself and known for having a bit of a reputation around town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all in how you mix the two (in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masonjars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonjars/gifts).



> dontgetittwisted, your prompts were lovely and one of them definitely inspired this story, though it doesn't follow it exactly. I hope that's okay!
> 
> I've already thanked my beta so much I'm sure she's getting a restraining order for me, but she came through for me when not many people would and I will praise her until I _die_ , just try and stop me.
> 
> This is set in a weird America/England mashup country. My britpicker is lovely and sweet but she could do nothing to help me change England's climate and also informed me that my club/resort idea wasn't overly common on her side of the pond. Alas, I couldn't change that, so I beg forgiveness if the mash-up setting distracts from the story.
> 
> Title and inspiration from 'Blue and Yellow' and 'I Caught Fire', both by The Used.

 

~*~

Summer jobs are the actual worst. It shouldn’t be that way- having a job during June, July or August isn’t logically that much different than having one during the rest of the year- but something about being at work when all of Zayn’s other uni friends are off boating together or in France with their families makes his already far-from-flashy receptionist gig at a resort and country club even less glamorous in comparison.

When his alarm goes off at an ungodly hour so he can be on time for his six o’clock shift, Zayn drags himself out of bed and reminds himself to suck it up. He’s worked the club every summer since he was fifteen, building camaraderie with the bosses and the other employees. He genuinely likes them, and doesn’t mind the work for the most part: it’s sometimes dull sitting behind a desk all day, but he’s close enough to talk to Perrie when he’s bored and it doesn’t usually take long for the others to stop by and have a chat. He gets to use the extra money for art supplies and he really only minds when his flatmates from school are posting their bikini selfies to Instagram or on snapchat.

Though, he reasons with himself as he steps out of the shower, all it will take is him uploading a picture of Liam after his morning workout- sweaty and usually shirtless- to get his friends jealous of _him_ for a moment. Zayn’s not above exploiting his friends, and he can already picture the silly smile on Liam’s face when he reads the truly rude comments Zayn’s friends will make about his abs.

Most of the staff at the club is older, usually retirees who get bored without something to do, but he’s bonded with the other employees his age, and he looks forward to seeing the usual gang. He’s lost touch with them during the past school year, but they hadn’t held it against him the year before so he doesn’t think they’ll do so again. They know how he gets, distancing himself when he’s feeling particularly far from them. He would never regret going away for school, but it sucks a bit sometimes when he realizes all of his other friends are either in their gap years or at more local unis so they can live at home.

He finishes his hair, the sound of his mum puttering around in the kitchen making tea drifting up the stairs to him. He sighs, sick of feeling jealous all of the time. He’s either stuck in uni wishing he was home with his friends or stuck at home wishing he was on holiday with his flatmates. His mum would tell him to take stock of his life and count his blessings. So he decides to do just that, remembering to put away his hair products so the girls don’t complain of him getting in their way before he heads down the stairs to greet her.

“Morning, sunshine,” his mum says, holding out a travel mug of tea for him. He takes a deep sip, pretending its coffee like he’s grown used to at school, and kisses her on the cheek.

“Thanks for waking up for me,” he says, ignoring her when she starts to say something- most likely about to insist she’s always up early. He gets his love of sleep from his mum, has seen her groggy-eyed smile on mornings before school for over a decade, and he kisses her other cheek as well. “Thank you,” he says a bit more forcefully. “Love you.”

“Love you back,” she says. “I’m taking the girls shopping this afternoon. If you bring home the lads tonight, you’re on your own for tea. I’ve just done a big shop so there’s plenty to pick from. Your dad’s going to be around, make sure you lot make enough for him.”

“Mum,” Zayn whines, rolling his eyes. His friends _love_ his dad; it’s always so weird when Liam hangs off of him like a limpet, but Niall’s starry-eyed shy adoration is no better.

“He loves the girls, but I think he really enjoys being included with your boys.”

“Yeah, okay,” he sighs, grabbing his tea and making his way out the back door. His mum’s given him free rein to use the extra car this summer, much to Doniya’s displeasure, so he lets it warm up a moment and smacks at his cheeks with his palm, widening his eyes to wake himself up even further.

The club is just outside of their neighbourhood, close enough that he’ll make on foot when it’s into the warmer parts of summer but he’s grateful for it now with a lingering chill in the air. He parks in the employee lot, a bit further from the main entrance but he uses a trail that cuts through a wooded lot, saving himself a few minutes than if he had used the paved drive.

Smoking a half-cigarette in his constant bid to cut back, he finishes his tea to warm himself up before he stubs out his stick and saves the rest for his first break. He slips into the stuffy building, cracking open the windows on his way to the front desk to let in the fresh air. It’ll be a bit cold for a bit, but the sun will be up soon enough.

“Morning Pezza,” he calls out, hearing a rolly chair skidding across the tile floor before Perrie’s sticking her head around the door frame.

Smiling wide, she stands from her chair and comes out to give him a hug. “Hey you! I heard Simon hired you back but I didn’t believe it ‘til I saw your name on the paperwork.”

He returns the hug, smiling into her shoulder until he pulls back. He’s always amazed when the group accepts him back without a fuss, and her easy greeting will most likely be how the rest of the group acts as well.

The chair behind the reception desk isn’t quite as nice as the one Perrie gets, but Zayn’s only here for the summer and she’s been working full-time while she takes evening classes during the school year, so he doesn’t begrudge her too much. He’s really going to nip his jealous tendencies in the bud this summer.

It has to be an easier habit to break than smoking, at least.

He’s just settled into his seat, turning on his computer and looking over the paperwork the other receptionist has left behind, when Perrie comes over behind him, resting her elbows on his shoulders. “Got a few new employees this summer,” she whispers conspiratorially.

“Yeah?” he scoffs. “Any with their original hips?”

Murmuring an agreement, she leans in closer. “One of them’s quite fit actually- just your type.”

“Kind of hard to have a type when you haven’t dated in a year,” he grumbles, flipping through the papers still and getting everything in the right order. The Monday/Tuesday receptionist that had worked last summer would always mess with his organization, and he hopes whoever it is this year will keep things the way they are.

“I saw the boys you pulled last summer. Harry’s just like them: all big eyes and even bigger hair. Looks like he thinks he’s the second coming of Mick Jagger.”

Zayn smirks, turning in the chair to see her better. “Sounds great, but most lads aren’t gay just because they’re into skinny jeans and ratted shirts.”

“This one likes sheer button-ups and leopard print,” she corrects, stepping around the chair and settling on the desk, crossing her legs and leaning in a bit. “Plus, he was dating a boy on my street this past school year. Used to drive past them making out in the car all of the time. Guess they had a bit of a messy breakup.”

He pulls a face. “I’m not interested in being someone’s rebound.”

“I know, love,” she soothes. “You’re a proper romantic. I do think Harry’s more of a player; heard he told the other lad that he wanted his summer free to do whatever and whoever he wanted.”

“Well, that changes it a bit,” Zayn allows, smiling at her.

His friends may tease him all the time for being a romantic, but he knows when someone is just a hookup and when there’s a chance for something more. He may fall in love a bit too easily with the latter, but he’s not exactly a stranger to a bit of a fumble with the former.

They’re still having a chat a few minutes later, just catching up on each other’s lives since they’d last met up before Christmas, when the resort manager comes in. Simon’s got his sunnies pushed on top of his head and a tray of Starbucks in his hand.

Zayn makes grabby hands for one of the cups, letting out a satisfied sigh when one is handed to him. He takes a sip, pinching blindly at Perrie’s calf when she makes a gagging sound. She laughs and kicks out at him, hopping off the desk and scooting back to her office.

“Thanks, Si,” Zayn says when he’s drank nearly half of it in one go.

There’s a pile of mail on the corner of the reception desk and Zayn hands it over when he sets down his coffee.

“How was school?” Simon asks as he sorts through it, putting a couple envelopes on the bottom of the pile. “You’ve just finished your second year, yes?” Zayn nods. “Almost through,” he observes.

“Yeah. Thanks, again, for letting me have my job back for the summer.”

“It’s yours whenever you’d like,” he says, picking up the tray of coffees again. “I’m out early today, but let me know if you need me.” With that, he walks away towards the back of the lobby where his office is.

Zayn turns back to his computer, opening an email from Perrie. It’s one that goes out to a mass distribution list, with the names and schedules of all the staff members included. He scrolls through, noting that nothing much is changed from the last summer except the new life guard/water aerobics instructor is listed as _Harry Styles, Monday – Friday, 12 pm – 6 pm_ instead of the woman who had the position the year before. Zayn prints the email out, sticking it in the transparent sleeve of a binder on his desk for when the guests and members call about activities.

Sure enough, he gets a phone call around ten from Mrs. Henderson, a retiree who lives nearby. He assures her that, yes, their hours are still six thirty in the morning to nine at night, and the doubles tennis instructor still arrives at noon every day they’re open.

He grabs a sticky note, jotting down a reminder to warn Liam that he’s going to be dealing with Mrs. Henderson and her horrendously handsy group of friends. He presses it to his monitor as he hangs up, chuckling a bit and finishing setting his desk up the way he likes.

~*~

The first shift passes without sighting the new lad, though a group of people in their swimsuits walk past his station around three and he can overhear one of the older women giggling about the ‘fit new lifeguard’. Though they seem mostly dry, their hair and suits drip enough water on the tile that Zayn needs to grab a mop, cleaning it up and thinking to himself that the new lad better be the best looking guy he’s ever seen if Zayn is going to spend the summer mopping up after his open swim or water class sessions.

Niall comes by just as he’s setting up the ‘Wet Floor’ sign, bouncing on his heels as usual.

“Missed you, mate,” Niall says, reaching out his gangly limbs for a hug that Zayn returns eagerly. Liam and Louis had stopped by on their way in that morning, but Niall usually uses the back entrance so Zayn hadn’t yet seen him.

“Missed you, too,” he says, then he gets to the important stuff. “New lad? Thoughts?”

Laughing and wiggling his eyebrows, Niall promises he’s just as attractive as Perrie had promised.

“I’m not a bloody liar, Malik,” Perrie shouts from her office, making Niall laugh loudly again.

“Just a girl who likes girls,” Zayn shoots back.

“Not bloody blind, though,” he thinks he hears her mutter and he giggles a bit himself, heading back behind his desk.

“He’s tall, too,” Niall adds, smirking a bit as he settles in the same spot Perrie had been perched on earlier. Zayn hastily moves some of the timesheets he’s been checking over before Niall’s bony arse wrinkles them.

“Sounds like everyone else is into this kid, too. I’m not wasting time trying to fight anyone off.”

“Oh, please,” Niall scoffs. He kicks out at Zayn’s shin, ignoring his squawk of protest. “Like you’ve ever been shot down when you bat your eyes at a lad or smirk just right. Bloody powerful, you are, with them lashes and shit.”

It isn’t that Zayn doesn’t know he’s attractive- he’s pulled any time he’s tried and can logically recognize the aesthetic features of his face- but he’s never going to get over feeling like the shy kid that got picked on just for being Muslim, the kid who’d had it rough enough that his entire family had packed up and moved just to give him another shot.

Niall gets it- had a similar experience when his family had first moved over from Mullingar- and he smiles softly at Zayn. “You’re not that lad anymore, and Hazza’s a good ‘un. He’ a right laugh, too. I think you lot’ll get on if nothing else.”

Zayn nods and turns the conversation back to the time they’d spent apart, working while they chat until it’s four and his shift is over. Grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulders, Zayn and Niall call out their goodbyes to Perrie as Zayn forwards the phones to her until the evening receptionist comes in around five.

They walk out together, bumping shoulders as they fall in step. Liam meets up with them and Zayn’s first question for him is about all of the groping his clients had most likely attempted that day.

“They’re harmless,” Liam says, laughing so hard his eyes crinkle and his pink mouth stretches in a grin from ear to ear. Zayn catches the fond look Niall gives him and he grinds his teeth, preparing himself for another summer spent dealing with them.

Somehow, he’s become friends with two of the biggest idiots in the world, the both of them completely unaware that their crush on the other is reciprocated. It would be a bit sad if they weren’t a bit obtuse about even having a crush in the first place. Zayn had wanted to intervene at the beginning, the summer after sixth form when Liam had first come to work at the resort, but Louis had convinced him to keep quiet by citing Liam’s general nervousness around them at the start.

When the next summer had come and still neither of them had clued in, Louis had decided that the game was too fun to spoil, so Zayn had kept his comments to himself. The idea of a third summer spent dealing with the lingering looks and half-sad smiles whenever the other is flirted with is torturous.

Honestly, Zayn is only one covert glance away from snapping already when Louis catches up to them, throwing an arm around Zayn’s neck. “Welcome back, again,” he says fondly, a brief sign of genuine emotion before he’s cackling and pinching at Zayn’s waist, back to being his usual terror.

“Haven’t missed you at all,” Zayn groans, stepping closer to Niall to avoid any flailing elbows as Liam- as always- bends to Louis’ will and play fights with him for a bit as they scamper up the trail. Louis turns on his heel and runs, giving up the game a bit, and Liam gives chase gamely. Louis darts out of sight before too long, the wooded lot not terribly forested but curvy enough that only a bit of foliage is necessary to provide plenty of hiding spots.

“They’re still exhausting then,” Zayn notes, fingers itching for a cigarette. Niall has a touch of asthma, though, so he ignores the urge and pulls the other lad under his arm instead.

“You love us more than your fancy school friends,” Niall says with a laugh, wrapping both of his arms around Zayn’s back and walking awkwardly with him.

“That’s a categorical lie,” he lies. Niall is, of course, completely right. They’re quiet for a moment, shoes thudding lightly on the pavement. He’s quiet when he asks, “What are the odds that two lads with fistfuls of twigs and leaves are waiting around this bend for us to walk into their trap?”

Laughing again and not quiet at all, Niall pulls away. “I’d say it’s a guarantee, for sure.”

As it were, they’re only partially correct. Liam and Louis _are_ waiting out of sight for them, but instead of dirt or leaves, in their hands are giant water guns that confuse Zayn quickly.

 “Not the hair,” he groans at the last moment, trying to shield his quiff. “Damn it, Louis, you idiot,” he complains. His hair is going to take forever in the morning now.

“Aw, it looks nice mate,” Louis says, getting an arm around his neck again. Louis’ always a little too aggressive with his affection, like a kitten that is unaware of how sharp his teeth are.

“You planned this, you jerk. I’m going to kill you the second I get the chance,” Zayn promises, fighting to keep the smile off his face when Louis smacks a kiss to his cheek and hugs him a little closer.

“Are we going back to yours for tea?” Niall asks hopefully, and Zayn knows he’s mostly excited to see his dad.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say yer more friends with me dad than with me,” he says, still trying to squeeze the water out of his hair. His hand is sticky and damp with product and he makes a face, twirling the strands of hair and trying to tug them back up.

It’s at this moment, of course, that a lad comes out of the woods near them, stopping in his tracks and seemingly surprised to see them.

“Hey guys,” he says, his voice low and his accent posh.

The others all greet him loudly, a chorus of ‘Hullo Harry’ drifting through the clearing. Zayn startles a bit when he realizes _this_ is the lad Perrie had been talking about. He sees now why she’d thought to mention him to Zayn; the boy is really his exact type. He’s not enormously tall but he’s got a couple inches on Zayn, and his mop of curly brown hair only adds to it. He’s a bit broad already for an eighteen year old, and his eyes are startlingly green even at the distance.

Niall gives Harry a pat on the back. “Not playing hooky, are ya Styles?” he asks with a grin.

Zayn doesn’t really _have_ to look to know that Liam’s pulling his concerned face, but he loves seeing it directed at people who aren’t himself, so he chances a glance. Liam just looks fond, however, like he’s genuinely pleased to see the new lad.

If Zayn didn’t know what Liam with a crush looked like- a look that he got whenever Niall was around or his name was mentioned- he’d be feeling a bit concerned for his mates. This look isn’t like that, though; it’s more like the way Liam looks at the rest of them, at the friends he’d made when he’d first moved to town.

The lot of them, including Perrie and her girlfriends, were all a band of misfits and outcasts in school. They haven’t many friends outside of the group- just a couple here and there, or people they can get on with to make uni pass faster- so to see Liam look like this at Harry Styles after only a week or so when it had taken him an entire _summer_ to look this way at Louis is a bit much to take.

It’s making Zayn jealous again, though he doesn’t really understand why. He looks back at the new lad, realizing everyone is looking at him expectantly and he must have missed something.

“Sorry,” he says, looking around. “What was that?”

“Off in your own little world?” Louis asks smirking a bit.

“Just a bit,” he agrees with a laugh. “What happened, then?”

“Just introducing myself,” Harry says with a wave, showing his young age in the bit of uncertainty around his grin, though he quickly schools his features to an impassive expression.

Zayn’s impressed with the quick attitude change, and he waves back. “I’m Zayn, I work the front desk.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says with a grin, relaxing a bit again. His cheek dimples, Zayn notices. “Well, I just came out for a bit of a break. Better head back into the pool area; I’ve got another class starting soon. Nice meeting you,” he adds on as he looks at Zayn again before heading down a different path than the one they’re on. The other one is less of an actual trail and more of a lumpy passage, the dirt beaten-down by employee’s feet over the years. It lets out closer to the back entrance and can save a bit of time if one was running late.

Which is something Zayn has been very thankful for, in the past.

“Told you he was fit,” Niall says when Harry’s disappeared, sounding smug.

“Keep laughing, Horan, and you won’t be invited for tea again.”

Looking a bit chagrined, Niall stops laughing, though Louis and Liam start in his place. They all rib him good-naturedly as they set off again, Louis climbing into Zayn’s passenger seat so they can smoke on the way to Zayn’s house while Niall hops up into Liam’s truck.

The drive back is full of him and Louis taking the piss out of the other two behind their backs, and tea involves just as much hero worship of Zayn’s dad as he had expected. All in all, when he’s waving the lads away and turning in for the night, he’s glad to be back home and working at the resort again.

He almost forgets about the new lad with the pretty curls and unbelievably pink mouth. He’s not even sure if Harry is interested, but a summer fling might help Zayn shake his jealousy once and for all.

~*~

As it turns out, Harry is indeed interested. He stops at the reception desk on his way in the next day, leaning on his elbows on the counter and dimpling prettily at Zayn.

“How’s your day going so far?” he asks, meeting Zayn’s eye.

Zayn smirks, clearly aware from the way he’s leaning in that Harry’s on the pull. He leans back in his chair, bringing his arms over his head and watching as Harry’s eye tracks the way his biceps pull. “S’going fine,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“Better now that I’m here, though, yeah?”

“You think a lot of yourself,” Zayn remarks, eyebrows high as he tracks a light flush growing on Harry’s cheeks. “What’s a young lad like you got to be so smug about?”

Harry scoffs. “Right, ‘cause you’re so old,” he teases.

“I’m old and weary, aye,” Zayn agrees, bringing his hands down and leaning forward on his desk, his elbows on the wood. It brings him even closer to Harry, whose gaze lowers to Zayn’s mouth and doesn’t shift away for a long moment.

“’M not as young as you’re acting,” he says after a pause. “I’m off to uni after the summer.”

“Might as well make it a summer to remember,” Zayn says in a voice too breathy to be natural.

Harry doesn’t notice or maybe he doesn’t care, licking his lips and meeting Zayn’s eye again. “Might as well,” he repeats before pushing back from the desk, arms flexing as he rolls his shoulders back and walks towards the pool entrance without another word.

Zayn sighs, feeling warm around his collar from a bit of flirting. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Perrie leans out of her office with a snort, one carefully done-up brow raised.

“That,” she says, waving her hand to indicate the door Harry’s just disappeared through, “is going to end up an absolutely beautiful mess. Can Leigh and I watch you two have sex?”

Zayn groans, thumping his forehead down on his desk, hitting the keyboard by mistake but leaving his head there. He flips Perrie off blindly behind his back, hearing her laugh again as she rolls back to her desk.

~*~

As an employee, on his days off he has access to the pool, golf grounds and other amenities that the resort offers. He doesn’t tend to spend a lot of time using them, but he always lets Niall drag him out for a half-game of golf at the beginning of summer, though he usually refuses to play after only a few holes.

This time, however, on Zayn’s first Monday off, he shows up early to the green and is surprised to see Harry Styles waiting for him. He’s wearing truly indecent white trousers, thin enough Zayn can see the outline of his pants through the fabric, and a purple polo shirt. His curls are held back by a headband and he’s even got his own set of clubs, ones that are much nicer than the resort’s set that Zayn’s checked out for the day, and he wonders why a kid as well-off as Harry seems to be is even bothering with a summer job at all.

“Don’t mind if Haz joins us, do you Zee?” Niall asks as he comes up behind him with his own battered set of clubs that used to belong to his dad perched on his shoulder.

“I’m quite awful,” Harry jokes as he gathers the top half of his hair into a small knot at the back of his head, the front still pressed down by a sweat band.

It is far too early for Zayn to have to deal with the way his shirt pulls at his shoulders or the way his cheek dimples, but he can’t take his eyes away and Harry smirks because he knows it, too.

He’s had a few more chats with Harry since their first talk on Zayn’s second day back, as Harry has taken to exclusively using the main entrance of the resort when he’s coming in for his shifts. He always stops to ask Zayn about his day, and their conversations aren’t even always sexually charged.

Harry’s nice and kind of a dork, and every time he walks away Zayn anticipates the next time he’ll see him. It’s a bit more complicated that falling into bed with him would have been, but, so far, the only witness to his developing crush is Perrie. She’s taken to giving him soft little smiles but doesn’t mention it past her first comments about it ending in a mess.

When they are flirting, though, they’re both a bit obnoxious with it. Harry has a way of tilting up the corner of his mouth when he’s really trying to pull that makes Zayn’s throat dry. He’s full of the charm that only being eighteen and undeniably pretty can bring, and he seems to be using every trick he has to capture Zayn’s attention.

He’s even looking Zayn over now, biting at his lip as he gives his hair another tug and brings his hands down again. Zayn just rolls his eyes, ignoring the way he’s feeling himself flush and turning to face Niall.

“Guess I can deal with you bringing along a newbie,” he says after a beat too long.

Niall looks at him with his brow furrowed, glancing for a moment at Harry before flicking his gaze back to meet Zayn’s eye. He raises his eyebrows, a question clear on his face. And, oh, of _course_ Niall’s cottoning on to the sexual tension between him and Harry, yet he can’t decipher Liam’s dopey grin whenever they’re around each other.

Zayn just shakes his head slightly, dropping his clubs to the ground and ignoring the identical groans Harry and Niall let out as they both mutter about the mistreatment of precious equipment.

It’s going to be a long morning.

~*~

As it turns out, golfing with a third person takes exponentially longer than just two. Zayn doesn’t tap out- there’s something like a challenge in Harry’s eyes when he hears Niall teasing that Zayn’s usually gone by now- and it makes him intensely grumpy when they finally finish.

He hates looking like a fool and- even though he knows golf is one of the mildest athletic feats he could ever attempt- he really hates looking dumb at sports. He’s always been teased in school when they were in PE classes and he’d make a fool of himself, and the gentle ribbing he’s endured from Harry and Niall is irritating him more than he’d like to admit.

Being used to Zayn’s moods enough to know when to bolt, Niall kisses him sloppy on the cheek and dashes away once they’re back at the resort’s main office. “Save yourself, Haz,” Niall teases before he’s gone, but Harry just laughs and steps closer to Zayn.

They walk together to the equipment shop, Harry waiting while Zayn returns and signs his clubs back in. Leigh-Anne makes a joke about being surprised Zayn wasn’t back hours earlier, and he smiles a bit for her but doesn’t respond otherwise. She pouts and pats his hand when he’s done marking his signature, waving to Harry where he’s stood in the door still.

“Have you charmed everyone, then?” Zayn mutters when he walks past.

“Everyone but you, it seems,” Harry says, amiably, jogging a bit to keep up when he realizes Zayn isn’t exactly waiting for him.

“Listen, kid,” Zayn says, turning on his heel quickly.

The move catches Harry off-guard, and they’re close enough to kiss when he comes to a stop, their chests pressing together for the briefest of moments until Harry steps back with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m listening,” he says, lips parted around a breath.

Everything about Harry reeks of sex, even when Zayn’s irritated and just wants to be alone. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are pink and a bit dry. The brief peak of his tongue as he lips at the chapped corners makes Zayn hiss out a breath of his own and he steps back, fuming.

Not one to normally lash out without careful consideration beforehand, he catches himself by surprise when he says, “I don’t know exactly how you managed to get everyone to fawn over you, but you don’t impress me. You think you’re the first kid I’ve met with pretty dimples and some charisma? I’ve met dozens like you. You’ll see: when you go off to uni in the fall, you’ll just be one of the many, a nameless face in the crowd. You won’t be able to _count_ all the lads you’ll meet who are too used to getting their way to realize no one’s falling for it anymore.”

Harry’s stopped grinning, but he still doesn’t appear as upset as Zayn still is. “Is that what happened to you, then?” he challenges, not even seemingly with the intention of being mean but almost as if he’s genuinely curious.

Zayn rolls his eyes and brushes by him in passing without answering. This time, Harry lets him leave and doesn’t follow.

~*~

Tuesday passes in a blur, Zayn heading to the art supplies store and blowing the last of his paychecks from his campus job. He spends near ten minutes with the greens, contemplating which shade is the exactly right one, before he realizes what he’s doing and picks one mostly at random. The store owner likes him, has commissioned pieces from him before and always makes him sign his name ‘for when he gets famous’, and he gives Zayn half-off the purchase as a welcome home gift.

Zayn thanks him and promises he’ll do another little piece for his wife before he leaves with his bags in hand. His mum raises her brows at them when he’s home, but she makes no other comment than to remind him tea’s at five sharp; if he isn’t going to be ready on time then he’ll have to wait until they’re done and reheat the leftovers. He nods and sets his alarm, going through motions he’s memorized since he was younger and had realized one day just how serious she was about family supper not being interrupted.

The canvas he’s using is one he’s stretched himself from a ten-metre linen roll. It’s a bit pricey to use for small pieces or insignificant ones, and he’s got enough still in the roll for the family portrait his mum’s been asking for so he uses the one he has ready for his piece today.

This linen is more expensive than the ArtDiscount cotton duck he normally uses for personal pieces but he wants the thinnest weave he can find for the piece he’s picturing in his head. He has two pieces made from his roll and he chooses the smaller one, saving the larger for the painting he _absolutely_ will begin soon for his mum.

The notepad he usually carries around with him is full of small sketches of all of Zayn’s friends, always has been, but lately there are more studies of Harry than anyone else. If he wanted to do a portrait, he’d stick to his pencils or even his charcoals, would spend hours getting the curl of his hair and the shape of his eyes just right.

Today, however, he wants to play around with abstract- wants to see if he can capture the colours he feels when he’s around Harry. It’s a practice his art teachers have been encouraging in him- saying he’s too withdrawn in class, doesn’t show his emotions enough- and he takes a breath as he lays down a catch-all sheet and carefully sets the canvas over it. He makes sure he won’t knock any paint off the edge of the sheet- his mum will probably do a murder if he ruins his carpet again after she’d had new

He runs a hand over the surface, just confirming the priming he’d done is smooth. It had taken him the better part of his afternoon the day before, and his fingers feel no bumps or ragged spots at all.

The first colour he chooses is the green, of course, and he doesn’t even bother diluting it, just squeezes some straight onto the canvas from the tube. He uses the very tip of his wide brush’s bristles to smooth it out, using long strokes that spread it from one corner to the opposite. His tilts his wrist a bit on the next strokes, sweeping the color out from the center and making an almond-shaped curve with the paint. He rubs it too thin in a couple areas and squeezes one last tiny drop on top, brushing that over again so it more resembles the shade of green in Harry’s eyes.

It’s ridiculously sappy, he acknowledges, to be pining after the town playboy when he could practically have his pick of the people at uni. He feels like he’s starring in his mum’s Mills & Boon novels as he squeezes out gold and copper paints next, using the same technique to brush thin stripes along either side of the thicker greens on the canvas.

To keep his mind from focusing too strongly on the brushstrokes, known to overthink even the simplest imperfections, he instead replays his last conversation with Harry in his head. It’s not much better to overthink those imperfections instead of the ones he’s making now, he admits, but it does fuel his creativity. He wishes he hadn’t been such a tool, but Harry’s somehow gotten under his skin already and it’s driving Zayn absolutely crazy.

White paint is next on the canvas, thick blots squeezed out from the tube. He brushes it across all of the untouched white space, going over it again and again until it’s too dry to spread any thinner. He cleans his brush quickly, patting it dry before pressing out a few more spots of the green, using the tip again to brush thin arcs across the white. It changes the shade of the paint, too light to be Harry’s eyes but still complementary to the pure shade near the middle of the canvas.

To the corners he applies black, layering it over the white so both colours shine through. He grabs for an old paintbrush, using the hardened and thinned bristles to scratch away some of the paint. He steps back and bites at his thumb, ignoring the thin flecks of paint he can taste under his nail. The paintbrush isn’t going to accomplish the aesthetic he’s going for, so he tosses it to the side and picks up an old comb of Doniya’s. He closes his eyes, trusting his instincts as he tracks it across the canvas in random motions.

When he opens them, he smiles. His tongue presses behind the back of his top teeth, looking at the way the white canvas and white mixing paint bleeds through where he’s scratched the paint off. He tries to picture how a stranger would see it, wonders if anyone would know that the almond shape of the green through the middle is meant to represent an eye, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Art isn’t always meant to portray the artist’s emotions, his two years of uni have drilled that into his head. As long as he’s inspiring feeling in the people viewing his work, he’s doing what he’s meant to.

He leans the nearly-dry canvas against the wall just as his alarm goes off with his ‘ten minutes until dinner’ warning. He heads to the bathroom and scrubs the paint from his hands, looking up at his reflection in the mirror and wincing when he sees the brightness in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. Art always has a way of getting him worked up, and focusing on Harry- albeit indirectly in a way- is clearly not helping.

He splashes some water on his face, tries to tone down his obvious excitement, and heads down to dinner.

~*~

“You know, everyone talked about you before you came back as if you were the prodigal son.”

Zayn looks up from his computer that Wednesday, startled that he hadn’t even heard Harry approach the desk. He was stressing over seeing Harry again and being caught off-guard only makes his anxiety level rise.

He forces out a laugh anyway, tries to hide how affected he is. “Yeah, right.”

Harry chuckles as well, but he’s earnest when he leans on the desk and continues. “Honestly, it’s like you’re a celebrity to the people around here. Every store owner has one of your pieces somewhere in their shop, your friends and their parents think you’re absolutely amazing and the teachers all talk you up like you’re Kadar Brock or Frank Ammerlaan.”

Zayn had a sharp comment on his tongue, honestly he did, but he’s surprised by the last few words and he loses what he was going to say. “You know who Frank Ammerlaan is?”

Harry rolls his eyes and huffs, but he leans a little bit closer. “I know you think I’m just some _kid_ ,” he spits out, “but I’m actually not.”

Zayn smirks despite himself, and Harry answers with a grin of his own immediately. He deflates like a popped balloon, immediately losing the stress he’s carrying in his shoulders as he relaxes on his forearms and levels Zayn a look.

“So, now that we’re both in agreement that you’re not better than me just because you’re a couple of years older, when are you taking me out?”

“Who says I am?”

“I might not be the first lad you’ve met with ‘pretty dimples and some charisma’,” Harry quotes, “but I still see the way you look at me.”

“And how’s that?” Zayn rejoins, feeling his chest tighten and his mouth go dry.

Harry places his palms flat on the desk in front of him, pushing back and standing tall over Zayn. “If I have to spell it out for you, maybe I’m not the kid here after all.”

With that truly awful line, Harry walks away. Zayn laughs after him, loud and surprisingly fond, and Harry shoots him a wide grin before he slips through the door leading into the pool. Zayn keeps snickering to himself after Harry’s gone, set off again by the gagging sounds he can hear from Perrie’s office.

“You’re just jealous that a fit lad likes me,” he teases.

“I don’t need a puppy drooling all over me,” she calls back with scorn, though Zayn thinks he hears her giggle after.

~*~

He waits until Friday to ask Harry out, sneaking into his senior water aerobics class after his own shift is over and watching him. Harry calls this his ‘Aqua Zumba’ class and Zayn spies on his from the doorway, partially hidden by a towel rack.

The way Harry’s dancing and bouncing around on the tile floor, the half-dozen people in the pool copying his moves, is partially hilarious but mostly just endearing. His curls are bouncing where they’re tucked into another sweatband and hair tie, and he’s got a smile on his face a mile wide as he twists his hips to the beat of a boombox playing in the corner.

Zayn’s hiding place is caught out when the door behind him opens, two people around his age rushing through.

“Sorry we’re late, Hazza,” one of them calls out, tossing their towels on the rack and slipping into the pool.

“S’alright, we’re still warming up,” Harry says back, but his eyes are on Zayn. He’s stopped moving and he looks like he’s about to say something else to him, but Zayn just puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head minutely.

Harry narrows his eyes a bit but he smiles, too. It’s soft and only a little dirty, the tip of his tongue flicking against the flesh of his bottom lip for a moment before he turns back to his group.

After another moment to allow the newcomers to warm up as well, Harry slips over to the boombox and presses a couple buttons. Instantly, ‘Jai Ho’ comes on and Zayn smothers a laugh into his palm. Harry glances at him, eyes bright even across the distance as he slips back to the front so the group can all see him.

Harry’s dancing is different than it what he had been doing when they were warming up, and Zayn knows most of that is because he knows he has a different kind of audience now. It’s still far from what would be considered ‘good’ by anyone who knew what they were doing, but there’s a grin on his lips as he bounces from one foot to the other, calling out encouragement to the class.

The song bleeds into another track seamlessly, one that Zayn isn’t familiar with but has a quicker beat. Harry prances from one side to another, the class following along. He gets his arms in the air above his head, twisting his hips before he side-steps to the other side and does it again, holding Zayn’s gaze and winking.

Zayn rolls his eyes and turns around with a soft wave. He needs to leave before Harry’s showing off leads to him injuring himself on the slick tile but he looks back at Harry one more time before he goes. ‘Five minutes,’ Harry mouths, holding his palm out with his fingers spread, and Zayn nods, slipping out of the door and heading into the locker rooms.

Bumming around and messing with the bulletin board, organizing the flyers by colour, Zayn counts out five minutes in his mind. He’s near four and a half when the door opens and Harry rushes in, a bit breathless.

“Hi,” he says when he sees Zayn.

“Hi,” Zayn replies, replacing the last flyer and turning to him. Some people from the group come in the door behind Harry, barely glancing at the two of them before hitting the showers or their lockers to change clothes.

“D’ya like what you saw out there?” Harry asks, running a towel over his forehead and across the back of his neck.

“Oh yeah,” Zayn drawls, leaning against a row of lockers. “Watching you bop around to pop music is what gets me going.”

“Knew it,” Harry laughs.

They sit in silence for another few moments while Harry gathers his things, shooting looks at Zayn out of the corner of his eye. Zayn doesn’t say anything, though, just kicks off from the lockers once Harry’s ready and falls into step beside him.

Walking together to Harry’s car, Zayn stays close enough that their arms are constantly brushing together. He’s biting his lip against a smirk, can sense Harry growing antsy with the silence, and they’ve just reached his driver side door when Harry finally cracks.

“Are you gonna say anything?” he asks, cheeks bright pink still from the pool and the walk.

“Something specific you waiting to hear?”

Harry groans, slipping his bag from his shoulder and leaning through the door to set it on the passenger seat. He straightens after a moment and turns to face Zayn, crossing his arms and waiting. Zayn contemplates drawing the silence out further but he doesn’t want to push Harry too far and he doesn’t think it would be fair to mess him about any further.

“Want to go to dinner with me tomorrow?” he asks with a genuine smile.

Harry looks at him a bit longer, sucking his top lip between his teeth for a moment before his smile returns. “Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“Alright, c’mon then.”

“What?” Harry asks.

“Let’s go. My mum should have tea ready soon.”

“Thought you were asking me for tomorrow?”

Zayn looks at him out of the corner of his eye as he circles around the car, slipping into the passenger seat and pulling Harry’s bag onto his lap. “I asked you on a date for tomorrow,” he agrees as Harry gets in the car as well. “But the other lads are over mine now, Friday dinners together is kind of our group thing. My turn to host this week so mum’s trying out a new roast recipe on us.”

“You’re inviting me to dinner with your family?” Harry asks.

Zayn shifts in the seat, a bit uncomfortable when Harry puts it like that. “I’m inviting you to dinner with my friends, who are also your friends, and it just happens to be at my house where my family will also be. Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re making it weird,” Harry counters, but he’s grinning and turning the radio up a bit so Zayn doesn’t say anything else.

~*~

Dinner goes fine, the other lads all welcoming Harry loudly and Zayn’s mum hardly even batting an eye when they crowd another chair around the table. The roast is delicious and Harry charms his parents as if Zayn really were introducing them specifically. His dad, in particular, likes Harry, and they slip off into the den after pudding. He ducks his head into the room for a moment, sees them deep in conversation with a book in front of them. Their backs are to him so he can’t make out any details about the book, but he doesn’t want to interrupt them so he and the other lads head upstairs to his room.

Fridays are usually always the same, their families hosting dinner on a rotating schedule and then the four of them bumming around their rooms or going out for the night to a club. It’s a tradition they began two summers ago, and it’s comforting to continue it now during what may just well be their last summer together.

Next year, Zayn and Louis will both be graduating. They’ve a plan just between the two of them to move down to London for a year, give it a go and see if they can make something of themselves. Neither of them have told the others yet, fearing the reactions. Liam and Niall have another whole year to go, but Liam’s fireman training will take even longer and Niall- if he and Liam can figure out their feelings for one another- will probably stay back with him. Zayn realizes that Harry’s part of their group, now, and he doesn’t know exactly what or where Harry is planning to study, but that’s another three years of schooling and free summers for him.

The bean bag he’s on is honestly a bit too small for him, but it’s comfortable when he lies his back on it and kicks his feet up on the edge of his dresser while the four of them listen to music and chit chat for a while. Liam announces he’s tired a little sooner than normal, but he’d had a lot of tennis lessons that day so Zayn doesn’t blame him for heading out.

It’s when Niall and Louis start yawning as well- a bit too obviously contrived to truly be believable- that Zayn gets suspicious.

“What’re you doing?” he asks them, not getting up from his bag as they wave goodbye.

“Nighty night Zayner,” Niall says before he’s out the door. Zayn hears them stomping down the steps and shrugs, closing his eyes and relaxing back into his seat.

The sound of a throat clearing startles him out of a semi-doze, and he sits up quickly when he realizes Harry’s stood in the door.

“Shit, sorry,” Zayn apologizes, standing and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Harry says, a bit shyly. “This isn’t what I thought your room would look like,” he admits, glancing around.

“Yeah? How often _exactly_ do you picture my room?”

Harry smirks at him, shyness pressed aside. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He comes further inside and glances around, eyes growing wide when he sees the canvas from the other day still resting against the wall. He moves towards it after a quick check with Zayn as if to ask permission. Zayn shrugs, is used to people looking over his work after two years in school. He would have hated it in sixth form, but he’s heard enough negative and positive reviews to have developed a bit of immunity to judgment.

Or so he tries to remind himself as Harry reaches a hand out, not close enough to touch but almost as if he’s trying to trace the curves of paint. He spreads his fingers out and makes a slashing motion with his hand, following the brushstrokes in the thickest areas. Zayn breathes in deep, watches as Harry tucks his loose curls behind his ear, a pointless motion by the way they fall back against his cheek when he tilts his head to the side.

“It’s really nice,” Harry finally says, turning his profile to Zayn so his soft voice will carry but not taking his eyes off of the painting.

“How much you offering?” Zayn asks, resorting to sarcasm to cover the anxiety in his voice.

Of course, Harry hears it anyway, turning to look at him fully. “Does it bother you that I’m looking at it?” he asks, stepping away and coming closer to Zayn. “I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

“Nah, s’fine,” Zayn shrugs again, looking at his feet where they’re propped up again on the edge of his dresser. His fingers itch for a cigarette but he promised his mum he’d try even harder to quit so he attempts to ignore the urge.

Harry comes over to sit by him, crossing his legs underneath his bum and letting his hands rest on his knees. Zayn shifts a bit, letting his feet fall flat on the floor, legs bent with his knees in the air. He turns his head to the side to look at Harry, whose gaze is still fixed on the painting.

“What’re you thinking when you paint?” Harry asks after a long moment.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On the day. I’m usually trying to ignore something, if I’m honest.”

“What were you trying to ignore when you did this?”

He opens his mouth to answer the question, catches himself at the last minute before he tells Harry the truth. It would be so easy to say ‘you’, would be the crux in a novel that would lead to passionate kisses and declarations of love. Instead of being in a harlequin romance, though, Zayn’s stuck in the real world.

“Probably fighting with me mum about smoking,” he lies.

Harry snorts, probably doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t push it any further. He’s leaning back just slightly, arms extended behind him with his palms flat on the floor. It brings tension to his muscles, and Zayn takes his time looking him over.

“Your dad’s a riot,” Harry says, finally tearing his eyes from the painting and looking at Zayn dead-on. “And your mum showed me some baby pictures of you when you lot all went upstairs.”

“She did no such thing,” Zayn answers quickly, knowing that half of the baby books are in the attic and the rest he’s hidden in his room. He would know if she’d been searching in either location.

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “No, she didn’t but she did seem to think we were together. Kept asking me about my intentions in a roundabout way.”

“Mums can be like that,” Zayn says with an air of nonchalance, though he knows his cheeks are growing warm.

Harry nods but doesn’t respond, still with his gaze intent on Zayn. Fidgeting under the attention, Zayn faces forward though he can still see Harry watching him from his peripherals. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to put effort into it, sucking his stomach in a bit and bringing his arms over his head so his muscles draw tight as well. He’s never tried this hard when on the pull, especially when Harry doesn’t seem to need the extra motivation.

The two of them are so similar; they both think before they speak and Harry seems just as determined and stubborn as Zayn is. Their flirting styles are similar and they both seem to crave the same sort of acceptance from the group of friends they’re pulling around themselves. Harry is definitely more extroverted than Zayn is, but he kind of likes that.

It makes him want to make an impression.

Zayn knows his crush is getting a bit out of hand- was never meant to care one way or another what Harry thought about him- but he finds himself wanting to know what Harry thinks about his room and his art and his family.

When he looks to the side again, Harry is still staring at him. It should probably make Zayn uncomfortable, being the focus of a rather intense gaze, but it makes him suck in a breath and lean forward, pushing himself up on his elbow as he exhales and presses his lips softly against Harry’s.

The response is immediate: Harry pushes forward, forcing Zayn to rest his weight between his forearms on the beanbag. One of his large hangs cradles the back of Zayn’s skull while he teases Zayn’s lips until they part, the other tracing a line down his sternum.

Zayn isn’t sure why the finesse of the kiss catches him off-guard but it does, makes him gasp a little against Harry’s mouth and use his shoulders and the arms braced beneath his back to press himself closer to Harry. He earns a quiet groan in response, Harry’s hand slipping under his shirt and tracing Zayn’s abs where they’re pulled tight from keeping himself up.

The kiss may have started gentle but neither of them let it stay sweet for long. Harry shifts so he’s practically in Zayn’s lap on the bean bag, Zayn sitting up and wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist to keep him close as their tongues slide against each other. The two of them are both panting whenever they break apart, trailing kisses along jawlines as they catch their breath.

Harry moves south first, nipping and teasing his way down the column of Zayn’s throat. He sucks once against the swell of his Adam’s apple, drawing a high-pitched keening sound from Zayn’s throat. Harry murmurs softly, shushing him as he brings their mouths together again.

Zayn falls back against the bag, dragging Harry down with him so the solid weight of him is pressing against Zayn’s chest. It’s in this position that Harry finally pulls away, when their hips are cradled together and all Zayn would need to do is spread his thighs just a bit apart for them to line up perfectly.

Instead, the hand that had been tracing his sternum presses more firmly against his chest, putting some distance between them as he uses the hand that had been buried in Zayn’s hair to heave himself up. The motion drags his cock along the bulge of Zayn’s, makes them both grit their teeth as Harry stands up and promptly sits down on the edge of the bed, eyes heavy-lidded when he looks down at Zayn.

“That was-” _amazing, perfect, too much, not enough._ Zayn pauses, trailing off and breathing a bit loudly, smiling almost too wide to form words. “Really great,” he finally settles, figures it won’t give too much away.

The corners of Harry’s lips crook up in a smirk that grows quickly into a smile silly enough to rival Zayn’s. “Bet you can’t wait to see what else I can do well with my mouth,” he says, voice lower than before.

Though he forces himself to roll his eyes, he can’t help the shock of arousal that flows through him at Harry’s words. “You’re a menace,” he decides, standing up himself and brushing his hands down his shirt, settling it where Harry had rucked it above his hips.

Harry shrugs, apparently alright with that descriptor. He stands after a moment, getting to his feet with only a slight stumble as his toe catches the edge of the bean bag. Zayn reaches out a hand to steady him, his bicep warm through the thin cotton sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Guess it’s getting kind of late,” he says, frowning a bit in concentration until he’s got both feet flat on the floor again. When he looks up and meets Zayn’s eyes, though, he’s smiling. “Should get some beauty sleep before you wine and dine me.”

Zayn chuckles and rubs his palm against Harry’s arm for a moment, moving with him as they walk out of his room and down the steps. Harry gets his Chelsea boots on with only slightly more grace than he’d shown in Zayn’s room, and Zayn is just about to usher him out the door when his mum comes around the corner on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, leaving so soon?” she asks Harry, frowning a bit and coming closer.

“Soon?” Zayn asks, looking at the old cuckoo clock they have hanging on the wall. It’s past eleven, and Zayn needs to be up for his Saturday shift in just a few hours.

“Nevermind, just come back real soon Harry, okay? You’re always welcome here.”

Zayn bites his lip against a whine that threatens to form, tries to remind himself he is too old to beg his mum to go away. Harry’s smiling and leaning in to hug her anyway, kissing her cheek softly. “Tell Yaser I said goodnight, will you?” Zayn hears him ask.

“You’re on first name basis with me dad already?”

Harry looks over his shoulder at him, shrugging. “Yeah, ‘course. Your dad’s amazing, I already said.”

“I know,” Zayn mutters, shoving his hand in his pocket and fingering the half-stick he’s got in there. He’ll smoke it after he walks Harry out, doesn’t like the small wisp of _something_ he’s starting to feel for Harry in his gut. It’s there when Harry says ‘goodnight’ to Zayn’s mum again, and he finally shuffles them outside and pulls out his cigarette and lighter.

“Niall said you’ve asthma,” Zayn says, spinning the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb before tucking it behind his ear.

“I don’t mind if you smoke,” Harry answers. “Won’t bother me if I’m outside, I think.”

“Nah, babe, s’alright. I can wait.”

They stand on Zayn’s front porch for a moment, smiling softly at one another.

“What are the chances your parents can see us right now?” Harry says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, that’s a certainty,” Zayn laughs. “You don’t mind if I kiss you anyway, do you?” He barely waits for Harry to shake his head and lean forward before he’s stepping into Harry’s space, one hand cupping his jaw and tilting their mouths together for a sweet kiss.

As both of them seem aware of their likely audience, the kiss stays close-lipped but Harry pulls back just enough to press his lips forward again, pecking Zayn’s mouth and cheeks a half dozen times until Zayn’s giggling and pushing him away.

“G’night, Haz,” he says when Harry shifts down one of the steps.

“What time tomorrow?”

“I’m off work at three. Can be by yours at half past?”

Harry nods and Zayn steps closer, enjoying for a moment the swap in their height difference. He’s a half-head taller than Harry thanks to the step he’s on, and he uses the leverage to tilt Harry’s head back one more time for a soft kiss before they pull apart and Harry walks to his car.

Zayn settles on an old armchair they have out on the porch, rocking it a bit as Harry starts his car and drives away, leaning over to wave goodbye. It’s dark out, but Zayn’s pretty sure he saw a wink, as well. He grins and keeps rocking until the night air is too cold for him and he goes back inside, having completely forgotten about the half-cigarette still tucked behind his ear.

He thumbs it back into his pack and empties his pockets, slipping into sleep trousers and between the sheets on his bed, the duvet being kicked down and nearly completely off. He falls asleep quickly, smiling still from the lingering taste of Harry’s kisses on his lips.

~*~

He gets through his shift somehow, bored for nearly the entirety of it. He's the only one of his friends that works the weekends besides Niall, who is too busy with a group of the resort's guests to keep Zayn entertained. He works his way through a pile of paperwork on his desk fairly quickly and spends the rest of the time doing random Google searches to keep occupied.

The only blessing of having the weekend shift is that he gets to leave an hour earlier than usual, so he stands up at three and forwards the phones, grabbing his bag and the keys to the car before heading out the door. The pickup truck Niall borrows from his dad sometimes isn't around, so Zayn can tell he's already gone. He gets in his own car and lets it warm up a quick moment before heading home.

Thankfully, the house is empty. He gets ready as quickly as he can, changing into a red shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans that his ex had particularly liked, claiming it made Zayn look like he actually had an arse for once. He’s out the door before anyone can come home and question why he’s dressed in more than his usual weekend sweats and where he’s going.

Double-checking the text Harry had sent him earlier, he plugs his address into the sat nav and pulls into the street. Harry’s family lives in Perrie’s neighbourhood but Zayn isn’t comfortably familiar with the smaller streets so he drives carefully and a bit slower than usual, constantly re-reading the next driving steps. He pulls in front of Harry’s house with five minutes to spare, debating for a long moment whether he should go to the door or not.

Meeting the parents isn’t typically standard for hookups, but Zayn knows he’s well past the mentality that Harry is simply someone to get off with, so he kills the engine and slips out of the car. His shoes make loud crunching sounds on the gravel as he heads up the walk, palms growing slightly damp in anticipation.

There’s only a moment’s delay between the time that he knocks and the time the door swings open, a pretty woman with dark hair who must be Harry’s mum smiling at him through the screen door.

“Can I help you?” she asks, never losing her smile.

“Erm,” Zayn hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet before mentally snapping at himself to pull it together. He stands a bit straighter and smiles back. “I’m here to pick up Harry. Is he ready?”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the famous Zayn,” she observes, pushing open the screen door and waving him inside. “Come on in, I doubt he’s ready yet: he just ran up the stairs not ten minutes ago. Would you like a cuppa while we wait?”

“No, thank you,” he says politely. He’s desperate to look around the house a bit, noting from the corner of his eyes that it’s much more posh than his parent’s home is. The Stylses are definitely well-off, and Zayn immediately winces when he realizes the sight his beat-up old clunker of a car must make parked in front.

“Okay, well, if you change your mind…” she says, trailing off. Her gaze is as laser-focused as Harry’s but her perpetual smile makes it warmer than the blank look he often has on his face when he gets contemplative.

Zayn shifts his weight again before reminding himself, once again, to not do so. She notices, of course, and reaches a hand out to cup his shoulder.

“I know I seem truly terrifying,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I’m pretty easy-going, actually.”

He laughs, can’t help it, and just nods. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose. Didn’t know if I should come in or wait in the car.” And, what, why is he telling Harry’s mum this?

She just laughs as well for a moment before speaking again. “You made the right choice, I think. My name is Anne, by the way. Harry’s step-dad is around here somewhere. Do you want to come into the kitchen with me while Harry finishes up? I was just getting supper ready.”

Zayn nods and follows Anne through the hallway to the spacious kitchenette. She directs him to take a seat on a barstool near the corner of the worktop while she washes her hands and pulls out a medley of vegetables.

“I told Harry he could invite you for dinner but he nearly turned purple at the suggestion- don’t know if a first date should be with the lad’s parents, I suppose.”

Zayn laughs and moves to the sink instead of taking a seat, washing his hands and grabbing the carrots from her despite her protests. “It’s no problem to help,” he says, accepting a knife she reluctantly hands over and beginning to chop.

That’s how Harry finds them a few moments later, rushing into the kitchen with wild eyes and bouncy curls.

“Mum have you seen my- oh,” he stops short when he sees Zayn. “Hey, I didn’t hear you pull up.”

Zayn shrugs, flushing a bit. He hadn’t really realized how much he’d made himself at home until he takes stock of the mountain of vegetables and herbs Anne’s given him to chop. It’s just like cooking with his mum. Anne is handling the chicken, deboning and getting it ready in a pan on the separate worktop behind him. He carefully finishes the sprig of thyme he has in front of him, using the blade of his knife to gather it before he sets it down and steps away.

He runs his suddenly sweaty palms together and smiles apologetically at Harry. “Sorry, didn’t mean to-“ he trails off, sweeping his hand out in a wide arc to indicate the food.

“No, s’alright,” Harry says, smiling easily. He chances a look at his mum, whom Zayn can see from the corner of his eye is sneaking peeks at them over her shoulder, before coming forward and kissing Zayn once on the lips, gentle and sweet. “You look like you guys are having fun.”

“I told him that I’d asked you both to stay for dinner but you hadn’t wanted to. It’s quite a lot for Robin and I to eat this whole chicken, we could use some help with it.”

Harry laughs, bounding over to his mum and hooking his chin over her shoulder. He says something to her in a low tone that makes her smile before turning back to look at Zayn. He stage whispers, “Do you want to stay for supper?” which makes Zayn laugh as well.

It isn’t exactly what he had planned out for the evening but he’s getting along with Anne very well and he thinks he needs to pay Harry back a bit for the time he’d spent with Zayn’s parents. He nods and thanks Harry for the invitation, enjoying the way his dimple deepens even further.

“You’re quite welcome.”

~*~

They finish helping Anne until she shoos them out of the kitchen and they then track down Harry’s stepdad, Robin. He’s fixing some of the equipment in the shed and Zayn laughs loud when Harry offers him a wrench to help.

“I think I best stick to the kitchen,” he apologizes. “I’m kind of useless with my hands.”

He realizes what he's said immediately and he clamps his mouth shut, fighting a flush that he's sure is bright enough for Harry to see.

Robin glances up from the lawn mower he's working on, clearly trying to fight back a smile until Harry starts laughing -unattractively loud and contagious in the most endearing way- and he then laughs as well.

“I meant with tools,” Zayn mutters, though he giggles a bit, too, when Harry slides up next to him and puts his arm around Zayn's shoulder. “I think you did better with my parents than I’m doing with yours,” he confesses to Harry in a near whisper.

“Nah,” Harry says back easily, still smiling wide and giggling every few breaths. “It's my fault your mum thinks were together- she asked how we had met and I blushed bright scarlet and stammered about the woods and thinking you were awfully fit.”

Robin laughs even louder at that, still watching them from his crouch near the machine. “Well, _you two_ are going to be quite fun,” he says, grabbing another tool- Zayn couldn't name it if payment was offered- and finally looking away.

“Come see my room?” Harry whispers with a smirk.

For all his forced arrogance and smug looks, he’s still flushed when he asks the question. Zayn’s charmed- well past thinking of Harry as a summer fling or someone to just distract him from the expensive lives of his university mates- and agrees with a nod. Harry’s curls shake when he tilts his head, loose like they were air dried and then combed through. Zayn wants to run his hands through Harry’s hair, wants to twist the curls around his fingers as if they were rings for him to wear around.

He wants a mark of Harry’s on him, something to show himself and others that he’s besotted by the pretty-faced, uni-bound teenager and that he’s all Zayn thinks about.

The fresh air that greets them once they leave the stuffy shed isn’t enough to slow them down, Harry leading the way with his hand tight around Zayn’s wrist as he tugs him across the back garden, through the main floor and up the stairs into his room near the landing.

Harry is on him almost before the door is completely closed, Zayn getting a second to glance around at the sparsely decorated white walls before he’s being turned and pulled in by the hips. His hands come up to rest against Harry’s chest, feeling the definition already in his muscles there before their mouths meet.

The kiss is messy from the start, open mouths and awkward angles until Zayn moves his hands to cup Harry’s jaw, tilting them just right so Harry can lick into his mouth, teasing his tongue against Zayn’s.

A whine builds in Zayn’s lungs until he’s desperate with it, breathing it out into Harry’s mouth and getting one of his hands on Harry’s bare throat, stroking the tendons in his neck, while the other finds the strip of bare skin where his shirt is riding up. Harry answers his whine with a sharp grunt, hands flat on Zayn’s lower back and using his slight size advantage to keep Zayn pressed against him.

Mills & Boon: Zayn’s life is a Mills & Boon novel completely.

“What’s got you so hot?” he laughs out against Harry’s mouth when their kisses lose focus again, panting against each other’s lips and tracing lines across their bodies.

“Fuck, loved watching you with my parents,” Harry admits, kissing Zayn again so thoroughly he almost forgets to pull back with a laugh a moment later.

“What?” he asks.

“Hmm?” Harry responds, nudging at Zayn until he’s stepping backwards and settling on the bed, staring up at Harry with wide eyes.

“You’re hot for it because I was domestic?”

Harry looks at him for a second, eyes slightly crossed when he glances at Zayn’s lip. He brings up his hand, using his thumb to press against Zayn’s bottom lip, slipping it inside his mouth slightly. He licks at the digit playfully before letting his bottom teeth graze the edge of his nail. Harry pulls back as if stung, shaking his head as if to clear a foggy haze.

“You looked so good in the kitchen, I don’t even know,” he says. “I want to come home to you making supper with mum all the time, I want Robin to tease us like that always. I can’t wait for you to meet my dad and Gemma- they’re going to love you.”

Panic builds in Zayn’s gut. He knows Harry’s type- has met enough lads like him at uni- so he knows that all the pretty words he’s saying and all the plans about Zayn meeting his family are for naught. Zayn knows Harry’s just saying what he thinks Zayn wants to hear and he needs to stop it- regardless of the fact that he’s right. Zayn would love to meet the rest of Harry’s family, would be honoured to see more of them, but he isn’t going to have Harry thinking he’s too invested in this already.

Never lose the upper hand.

“Bit serious for a summer thing, isn’t it?” Zayn asks with a forced laugh, trying to play off like he’s purposefully teasing a fact they both know.

Harry looks him in the eye again, green barely visible through the narrow slits. “A summer thing?” he repeats.

Zayn shrugs, trying to ignore the cold feeling that works its way into his lungs when Harry steps back and they’re no longer touching. “Yeah, I mean. I know about your last lad and why it ended.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, bottom lip going white from his sharp teeth. His flush is present but different; instead of his neck and the bit of chest peeking over his collar being a pale, pretty pink, the colour is concentrated on his cheeks in two bright spots. He looks like a cartoon version of anger.

“What did I say?” Zayn asks, bewildered.

“How _exactly_ did my last relationship end?” Harry bites out.

Feeling foolish and unsure, Zayn doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t like speaking when he doesn’t know what he’s going to really say, so he thinks for a moment. Harry- so similar to him in so many ways- is obviously patient enough to maintain the same body language for the entire time it takes Zayn before he opens his mouth and says, softly, “You wanted a ‘no strings attached’ summer before you had to focus on uni. You’re-” he swallows, nervous to put his words out there but he knows he has to bring everything to light. It’s clear the hookup concept is dead- Zayn’s feelings are too involved at this point- but he needs to say the words out loud so he can move on from Harry once he sees them acknowledged. “You’re just into hooking up and it got too serious with him so you ended it.”

Scoffs are generally sounds of amusement: there’s usually a sarcastic edge to them, but they are overall a sound Zayn would normally have associated with happier feelings. The way Harry scoffs, rolls his eyes and blows out a breath so the curls above his brow bone flutter is changing the way he associates those actions with feelings forever.

“What?” he asks Harry, confused.

Harry turns away from him, pacing a bit across the floor as he thinks over his own words. Zayn tries to give him the same courtesy of patience that Harry had extended, but he feels his anxiety rising the longer Harry doesn’t speak. He cross his arms over his chest, digging his hands into his armpits and tapping his toes against the floor. The dull, repetitive sound does nothing to calm him but he keeps doing it anyway, needs to be moving somehow and he knows better than to run away from this moment.

Finally, Harry stops pacing and faces him, his shoulders back and head high. His voice is clear as he speaks. “Steven broke up with me when I told him I was a virgin. He had been pressuring me to have sex with him- _in his car_ , by the way, when he was dropping me off _at my house_ \- and when I told him I wasn’t ready, he called me a tease for having led him on and then asked me to get out of the car. The next day at school- which was the last day before summer break- he told everyone that I had dumped him because I was too much of a slag.”

Breathing heavily from the admission, Harry sits down in an armchair near his bookshelf, eyes still locked with Zayn’s. Needing a moment to process the overload of contradictory information, he breaks eye contact and stares at his hands.

Not giving him time like he had before, Harry continues. “I didn’t think there was any way for you to have heard his bullshit version but I sometimes forget how small the village is. When you called me out before, I thought then that you’d prejudged me but then I talked to mum about it all and she made me realize we were just approaching things differently. I tried to be nicer and calm myself a bit, but I’ve been mad for you before we ever met. I was being honest when I said how much people here love you and talk about you. I’ve been moon-eyed over the famous Zayn Malik since I moved here.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, still trying to process everything. His mind is whirring a mile a minute, trying to isolate one or two misconceptions but he can’t: he’s been completely backwards about Harry since the very first moment he knew he existed, when Perrie had gushed about him.

“And screw you for judging me for being a slag, also.”

This confuses him too much, so Zayn finally looks up and meets his gaze. “What?” he breathes out, brows furrowed and mouth puckered. He has lost the plot completely.

“Even if I was sleeping my way through every lad I met this summer: my body, my choices.”

“I don’t _care_ if you were!”

“Didn’t seem like it to me! You just made it clear this is just a ‘summer thing’ to you, that I’m only worthy of a quick snog before you’re back off to uni and back to being a pretentious twat.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn breathes, barely above a whisper. He brings his hands to his face, ignoring the faint mix of deodorant and cologne he can smell on them, and lets out a strained laugh. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he says, standing up finally.

“Where are you going?”

Bewildered, Zayn looks over at him as he’s halfway out the door. “I’m going home.”

“Because I’m not going to sleep with you, you’re just going to be done? I didn’t realize you were exactly the same as Steven, then.”

Zayn is too exhausted to continue talking it over, so he just shakes his head and leaves. Harry doesn’t follow him down the stairs and Zayn wants nothing more than to make a swift escape through the front doors but he catches sight of Anne in the kitchen, looking up at him with a smile. It’s clear she hasn’t heard anything of their fight- and they had been speaking relatively low, so Zayn doesn’t think she’s pretending- so he approaches the kitchen slowly.

“Hey, Zayn. Did you want a glass of water or anything? Harry should have brought some upstairs with him.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I just want to apologize that I won’t be able to stay for tea, after all. Thank you for a lovely time, though.”

Concern clear on her face, Anne just nods and sets down the towel she had been wiping off the worktop with. Knowing there’s nothing more he can say- it’s up to Harry to fill in the blanks for her- he backs away and heads out of the house. He gets in his car and starts it, pressing down on the shifter, moving it to the side and forward a bit so he can reverse out of the drive and head home.

~*~

Sunday dawns truly terrible.

It’s raining, which means Niall is around more than normal. He messes with Zayn’s desk and then Perrie’s before he finds someone in the kitchens to hang out with for a bit so Zayn can get everything back to rights.

Niall’s usually the best about giving Zayn the space he needs, but he’s back sooner than expected, still buzzing and messing with his things again.

“Niall, _what_?” Zayn snaps out finally.

Stopping and looking like he’s been properly reprimanded, Niall rocks back on his heels and avoids his gaze. “I kissed Liam,” he says to his own feet.

Nothing more surprising could have come out of his mouth, in Zayn’s opinion. He sets his pen down, takes a breath to push aside his bad mood, and turns to face Niall head-on.

“It’s about time,” he says and the same time Niall mutters, “I think I messed everything up.”

Niall looks up at him finally, blue eyes wide. “What?” he asks.

Zayn tries a smile, hopes it doesn’t show how jealous he’s feeling. He’s genuinely relieved that the secrets crushes are out in the open, now. “You’ve liked him a long time,” he says.

“Did everyone know?”

“Just me and Louis. And then we knew that Liam likes you.”

Niall’s confused expression gets more pronounced and Zayn sighs in annoyance, rolling his eyes. “Let me guess: you and Liam kissed and then one or both of you ran away and you haven’t talked about it?” He doesn’t wait for Niall to answer, just laughs and tries to be kind when he says, “Liam and you have liked each other basically since the beginning. You both are completely oblivious and Louis thought it’d be fun to watch but it’s honestly not that much fun anymore when you both should just date and be totally gross and in love.”

Niall’s cheeks are pink and his blue eyes are shockingly bright when he smiles a bit at that. “You’re one to talk about being gross: what happened with Haz when we left on Friday?”

At the mention of Harry’s name, Zayn’s smile fades from his face and he scowls. He turns back to his paperwork, picking up his pen and trying to remember what he had been in the middle of.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Niall says, voice low. Zayn shrugs but doesn’t say anything, and Niall- already seeming calmer after getting the secret of him and Liam’s kiss off of his chest- takes the hint finally and lets Zayn be for the rest of his shift.

When he finally leaves just after one, he stops by the desk and presses a kiss to Zayn’s temple. “Call me if you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says shortly, rearranging a stack of manilla folders for the eighth time just to have something to do.

“Love you man, let me know who I need to punch,” Niall calls out as he rushes outside and to his truck.

Zayn feels a bit better for a brief moment, before he’s alone again and wishing he had taken more advantage of Niall’s company while he had it. The next two hours drag by so slowly he almost thinks time has stopped, but it’s eventually three o’clock and he can go.

He holes himself up in his room the rest of the day, pulling the covers over his head and ignoring everyone but his mum. She opens the door and sticks her head into his room a couple hours after work.

“Are you eating with us?” she asks.

He mumbles ‘no’ but doesn’t move the covers.

“Are you eating at all?”

This time, he answers ‘maybe’.

“Is this about Harry?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tugs the duvet tighter around his shoulders and forces himself to count sheep, ducks and horses until he eventually falls asleep.

~*~

Eight o’clock Monday morning finds him chain-smoking outside the art supplies store he usually goes to. The owner greets him with a smile as he unlocks the doors, turning on the lights and letting Zayn head to the back.

“I’ll be around setting up, shout if you need me,” he says and Zayn calls back his thanks.

He finds what he’s looking for right away, knows the store like the back of his hand, and loads a shopping basket with almost twenty different 150ml tubes of System 3 paint. It’s more expensive than what he usually buys, but the resort is paying more this summer than it had last year and Zayn is desperate to paint colour bursts in a mess, needs random patterns to clear his mind.

The canvas section is in the far corner of the shop and he heads there next. He’d begun the family portrait for his mum that he’d promised, so he doesn’t have any prepared canvasses and doesn’t want to take the time to make any more. Instead, he grabs a pre-primed and stretched linen, a bit more expensive than the cotton duck he’s more used to, and heads to the front of the store.

The owner rings him up and makes a bit of small talk, smiling even when Zayn is only mumbling back short answers. They’ve known each other for long enough that he’s doesn’t seem to mind that Zayn’s moody, just wishes him a good day and tells him that he’ll call if anything interesting comes in. Zayn thanks him and leaves, shopping bags in hand.

~*~

The stretched linen canvas he had purchased sits on a drop-cloth on the floor in his room, Zayn towering over it with a thoughtful expression on his face. He sizes up the space he has, takes stock of the landscape orientation and debates what he can do with it. He casts his gaze around the room, noticing the finished painting he’d made the week before. Though it passes as abstract, the clear shape of an eye stares back at him.

After studying the green that had been meant to represent Harry’s eye colour, Zayn gets another idea. He promises himself that the painting he’s about to complete will never be shown to anyone else- he will never live down being as much of a sap as he is about to be- and he sets out a select assortment of the colours he’d purchased.

He measures the canvas, using a pencil to make light marks. Painters tape is laid out next, creating five distinct sections, the four corners and the middle diamond. He paints a clear acrylic along the edges, just enough so that he’ll have clean lines when he removes the tape. He looks over the colours he’s chosen, deciding that two of them will be too dark for the exact shade he needs. He squeezes out two dots of white mixing paint in their respective corners, using a brush to spread it thin in their spots.

For the colours, he first uses a cerulean-like blue that the tube calls ‘coeruleum’. He applies it to one of the pre-painted corners, so that the shade is lighter than if it were left undiluted but it still maintains its distinguishing characteristic from other shades of blue. Next, he applies cadmium yellow to the opposite corner, the pale sunshine colour left undiluted and strong. The top-left corner gets a light pistachio shade and the bottom-right gets a thin coating of a copper colour, spread over the dried white paint so it appears closer to gold.

Painting two layers of black in the middle diamond, Zayn lets it all dry while he cleans and blots his brushes. Acrylic paint is quick to dry but he gives it time as well before carefully removing the pieces of tape. The thick white lines that form the black diamond shape in the middle are begging for attention, and Zayn pours a drop of valley green paint into a mixing bowl. He tops it with a spot of titanium-tinted white and a shade that resembles a pearl, mixing the three together and watching the colors blend.

Ignoring self-doubt as it won’t matter if he never shows it to anyone anyway, he pours the new blend into a pump spray bottle and adds just a bit of acrylic medium to thin it out. He tightens the lid and shakes until it’s the perfect consistency, using a bit of loo roll for a couple test sprays. Satisfied with the outcome, he keeps his hand level over the canvas and sprays sporadically along the white space. Pearly green drops and splatters land along the painted parts as well, creating a bit of transition between the different shades.

When he’s finished, he sorts his supplies, tossing the brushes and mixing bowls into the bathroom’s sink for cleaning, moving the canvas to dry so he can gather the drop-cloth, pleased to see he didn’t cause any further damage to the carpet. He sets the canvas somewhere out of the way, doesn’t need it staring back at him. He bundles the drop sheet into a hamper and then sets about cleaning his brushes, bowls and then himself.

He’s surprised once he’s back in his bedroom to see how dark the sky is through his window. He’d thought his painting had only taken about an hour at most, but he checks his watch and realizes it’s nearing time for tea. His stomach growls at the thought, reminding Zayn that it’s been over twenty-four hours since he’s had anything to eat, and he races downstairs to help his mum with any last-minute needs.

She looks relieved to see him, smiling when he kisses her on the cheek and requests enough servings to feed a horse.

“Aye, that’s what you get for holing yourself up in your room like that. I was worried about you, Zayn,” she scolds.

“Sorry, mum, just painting, y’know how I get.”

“It’s about that lad of yours,” she says knowingly.

“He’s not _my_ lad,” Zayn corrects. “He’s jus’ Harry.”

She nods and hands him plates with which to set the table, piling silverware on top and setting him off into the dining room.

“Well,” she says, speaking louder so her voice will carry, “that ‘Jus’ Harry’ lad was extremely kind-hearted and endearing, and his eyes got wide and soft when he spoke about you. Might want to be careful with him, I think his feelings are truer than you realize.”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, placing the plates down and sorting the silverware. He wishes his mum would have told him that before he’d made a fool of himself.

~*~

The next morning, Zayn’s mum takes Doniya into the city for a bonding day for the two of them. His dad’s off to work and Safaa and Waliyha are griping at each other when Zayn finally pulls himself out of bed and heads downstairs.

“Zayn, make her stop,” Waliyha whines, thumbing away at her phone.

“Saf, leave her alone,” he mutters, overloading the coffee pot he’d bought with his second paycheck, needing something to wake him up enough to deal with the day.

“I’m just _bored_ ,” Safaa whines. “Everyone’s on holiday and no one can come over ‘cause mum said you can’t be trusted to pay attention that we don’t all die.”

“She’s right about that,” he laughs, messing with her hair. It only causes her to shriek and bat his hands away, and he opens his eyes wide at the sound before looking longingly at his still-empty coffee pot, urging it to move faster.

“Can we go somewhere?” she pleads with him. “You’ll mind me and Waliyha, yeah? Won’t let us die?”

“If you keep whining like that, he’ll probably do a murder himself,” Waliyha snarks from her spot on the sofa in the lounge.

Safaa glares at her but stays quiet, thankfully. Zayn gets to pour himself a mug of coffee, taking a few deep sips even though it’s still a bit too hot. He’d discovered that coffee made at home tasted nothing like Starbucks, but his mum had laughed at him for buying it too much for him to admit to anything. Instead, he deals with the slightly bitter taste and moves into the lounge, sitting on the end of the sofa near Waliyha’s feet.

“Where d’ya want me to take you?” he asks.

“We could go to the shops!” Waliyha suggests, eyes wide and a smile growing on her face. She’s finally looked up from her phone but Zayn still says a quick ‘no’ to the suggestion of shopping with his sisters all day.

It makes Waliyha pout but Safaa looks like she’s thinking for a moment. He stretches out his foot and nudges at her heel with his toes, getting her to look up at him.

“Could we go to the pool maybe? If we promise to leave when you say and behave for the lifeguard?”

He understands the mention of the lifeguard immediately, having witnessed one of the only fights his mum and Safaa had ever had, when she’d taken Safaa and her friends to the pool for the afternoon and had to leave early when they’d misbehaved so severely the lifeguard on duty at the time had literally yelled at them about how running around the pool was a danger not only to them but to the people around them.

Zayn had always thought the whole situation had been handled poorly- the lifeguard had probably over-reacted and then Safaa and his mum had been arguing for almost an hour once they’d come home- but he then remembers that the guard on duty today is bound to be Harry and he bites his lip, thinking it over.

“I promise, promise, _promise_ ,” Safaa begs, blue eyes wide. “I will be the best behaved I’ve _ever_ been for you.”

Laughing a bit nervously, Zayn nods. “Okay, we can go if Waliyha wants and if mum gives her okay.”

Though the coffee is already starting to wake him up proper, he’s still startled at the shout Safaa gives at that, jumping up from the chair she’d previously been sprawled in and bouncing on her toes next to their sofa. “Say yes, say yes,” she chants, smiling big.

For all that they don’t always get along, Zayn’s sisters are usually pretty easy-going with each other and Waliyha only needs a second more before she relents with a smile. “We’ll go,” she says, “but Zayn isn’t allowed to talk to me. I don’t want people knowing my older brother had to take me to the pool.”

“Give me some time for this to work,” he says, indicating the coffee mug in his hand and smiling.

They both rush off to change into their swim suits, clearly ignoring his request for time. He rolls his eyes and smiles, draining his coffee and pouring himself another full mug to sip at before they go. He starts planning out what he can say to Harry, sighing when he realizes he doesn’t have a choice but to sound like he’s just stepped off the pages of a Mills & Boon novel for real. He knows he’s never thought about romance novels as much in his entire life as he has in the short time he’s known Harry.

He’s pretty sure he can blame the curls; romance heroes and heroines tend to have long, flowing locks.

~*~

The indoor pool is surprisingly crowded once they get there, the neighbourhood kids taking advantage of the resort’s ‘open swim’ from noon to four before the water classes- including the Aqua Zumba Zayn had spied on- take place until six.

There’s a glass-window booth where Harry’s sitting so he can scan over the crowd. He’s techinically not a lifeguard in the literal sense- probably has some training but isn’t ceritifed or anything- but the resort posts ‘Swim at your own risk’ signs around the pool and pays someone to just monitor the situation.

Zayn stays back and lets Waliyha make her entrance as if she’s come alone- who she is looking to impress and how she’s going to explain getting there on her own is beyond him- but Safaa takes his hand, always a bit shy in crowds.

“Do you think Wali will play with me?” she asks him.

“I think she might. I’ll come play with you in a little bit but I need to talk to someone first, is that okay?”

She nods, her expression set in determination. She drops his hand, stepping forward on her own and setting her towel down on a rack. There are small tables and chairs set up in one corner, but it’s mostly just an enormous pool with a huge slide. It’s billed as a waterpark but Zayn doesn’t think it really meets the requirements. The resort doesn’t book many families anyway- usually just golf aficionados- so they open up the swimming pool to whoever wants to pay a little bit of change to attend.

After watching Safaa find one of her friends and head into the water, Zayn turns on his heels towards the booth Harry’s in. He’s already seen Zayn, eyes wide and bottom lip between his front teeth as he stares back. Zayn smiles a bit, hesitating before lifting his hand in a wave. Harry doesn’t smile back but he does nod a little, casting a glance over the crowd before his gaze travels back to him.

Zayn starts moving forward, willing himself not to chicken out and run away. He pictures his uni flatmates’ faces if he were to tell them in the fall how a teenager made him so nervous he ducked him in public after having worked up the nerve to approach in the first place, and the amusement he feels at their imagined expressions carries him all the way until he’s stopped in front of Harry, barely a few steps away.

“Hi,” he says, voice coming out a bit squeaky. He clears his throat but laughs when Harry finally cracks a smile.

“Hullo,” Harry says, turning to face him. His shoulders are stiff and he seems a bit uncomfortable still, but the expression on his face looks like one of hope so Zayn presses forward.

“So, I was a complete tit,” he begins. “I believed a bit of gossip about you before I even knew you, and then I never told you how much I liked you because I was too scared you only wanted a bit of fun.”

Harry’s smile is gone and he’s back to gnawing on his lip. He doesn’t say anything, green eyes bright when he turns back to Zayn after looking at the pool quickly.

“Um,” Zayn stumbles, having been sure Harry would have something to say. “I guess I wanted to let you know that I don’t think you’re a slag and I wouldn’t no matter how many people you’d gotten off with or how few.”

“What are you saying?” Harry says, voice deep and words slow.

The relief at having Harry talk to him is briefly overwhelming, and Zayn sighs and smiles just from the feeling of it. “I’m sorry. That’s what I’m saying, rather terribly. I apologize for the way I made you feel. I need to work on it, honest, because if I’m like that with someone I _liked_ , I can only imagine how I’ve been behaving with people I don’t.”

“You keep saying ‘liked’ as in past tense,” Harry notes, looking down at his hands before turning once again towards the pool.

Zayn feels himself flush from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, thankful Harry isn’t looking and may not be able to tell anyway. His skin is warm when he presses his fingertips to his cheek, however. He runs that hand through his hair and grins. “I ‘like’ as in present tense,” he says.

He isn’t prepared to handle the way his whole body feels lightened by the confession, especially not when Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye, his lips clearly tilting into a smile even from Zayn’s profile view of him.

“Is that so?” Harry asks, his tone already brighter.

“Beyond a reason why,” Zayn asserts. “And I hope you’ll forgive me, because I think you’re amazing and kind and I’d really, really like to apologize to your mum for my terrible impression.”

“She’s awfully mad at you,” Harry teases, turning to look at him full-on. His eyes are crinkled and his dimple is deep, and Zayn thinks he likes this boy far, far too much for only knowing him a couple weeks. “I don’t think she’ll trust herself around you and knives for a while.”

“S’fair,” Zayn acknowledges.

“So what happens now?” Harry asks.

“Well,” Zayn pauses. “You are going to- hopefully- forgive me and then I’ll let you get back to work. You’ll spy on me playing with my littlest sister and ganging up on the other one with her, maybe I’ll embarrass her a bit when she’s talking with her friends, I’ve not yet decided.”

Harry laughs at that, glancing out the window again. The pool seems to be clearing out a bit, though there’s still time in the open swim session. When Harry looks back to him, Zayn’s shifted closer. He looks at Harry with what he hopes is a pleading expression, making Harry laugh again and reach out a hand.

“You were a jerk,” Harry allows as Zayn links their fingers together, “but you apologized and kind of remind me of Mr. Darcy which makes me Elizabeth and I’ll take it, any day.”

Giggling, Zayn settles into the seat next to Harry, pressing close enough that their legs touch along the entire length from their hips to their ankles. “Mr. Darcy, huh?” he asks.

“I’m kind of a sucker for romance novels,” Harry admits. “I read them all the time.”

“How many of the Mills & Boon do you own?”

Harry blushes, staring out the window even as he runs his heated cheek against Zayn’s skin where his t-shirt sleeve is hiked up. “A few.”

“Just a few?”

“Okay, maybe a lot. Who cares?”

Zayn lifts his right hand and reaches across his chest, two fingers tilting Harry’s chin up until he can look him in the eyes. “I think I’d quite like to court you, Mr. Styles.”

“Most ardently, Mr. Malik?” Harry smirks.

Zayn purses his lips just a bit, enough to brush them against Harry’s in a whisper of a touch. “The _most_ ardently,” he confirms.

Harry surges forward and kisses him more firmly, laughing against Zayn’s lips when they nearly knock each other off of their seats.

Though he’d like nothing more than to keep kissing Harry for approximately always, Zayn stops them quickly, brushing the tip of his nose against Harry’s cheek before pulling back completely. “Don’t want to get you in trouble at work,” he says apologetically when Harry pushes forward mindlessly for another kiss.

Harry’s eyes flutter open, the hints of copper, cadmium yellow, pistachio green and cerulean blue in his otherwise valley-green irises are a brilliant contrast to the black of his pupils. Zayn’s cheeks heat again at the thought of the oversized, abstract representation of Harry’s eye colour in his room- the thought that he’s now painted Harry’s eyes _twice_ \- and he ducks his head for one last kiss before standing up and backing towards the door.

“I have to let you work,” he apologizes, “but come find me, when you’re off?”

Harry pretends to consider it for a moment. Zayn uses the time to cast around for another quote, smiling when he remembers the ending.

“I’d quite like a chance at making you ‘completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy’.”

Laughing so hard he snorts, clearly taken by surprise, Harry nods and stands to follow him out of the booth, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing in jest. “Get out of here, you complete and utter miscreant. Come to mine for dinner tonight, mum’ll enjoy giving you a hard time and she’ll forgive you soon enough.”

Zayn nods his agreement, placing his hand over Harry’s to keep it against his breastbone for a second before he turns around and goes over to the edge near Safaa, settling on the tile with his legs in the water. She swims over to him immediately and he smiles at having at least one sister who isn’t ashamed to be seen with him. He glances to Waliyha and pulls a funny face when she looks over, basking in the smile she reluctantly gives him before she turns back to her friends.

“Did Waliyha just smile at me?” he asks Safaa. She laughs and splashes his knees a bit.

“Dunno, but the boy from the other day is staring at you,” she says, looking over towards the lifeguard’s booth.

“Probably knows I can’t swim,” Zayn jokes, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Probably wants to be your boyfriend,” she counters.

“What do you know about boyfriends?”

“I could have lots of boyfriends.”

“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you, then?”

“Daddy says to focus on school now and boyfriends later.”

“Yeah, he’s probably right. He’s pretty smart.”

“You’re almost done with school, though,” she reasons, trying to stand on a pool noodle underwater. “You probably have time for a boyfriend, now.”

Zayn looks at her, laughing before he glances back at Harry. He winks and gets one in return, facing Safaa in time to watch her fall back into the water. When she surfaces, laughing at herself easily, he waits to get her attention again.

“You’re pretty smart for a twelve year-old,” he says, watching her smile grow even wider.

“Duh,” she says before seemingly deciding he’s not entertaining enough, turning and swimming over to her little group of friends.

When he looks over his shoulder again, Harry is looking to the other side of the pool. Zayn takes a moment to look his fill, smiling to himself when he turns away before Harry can catch him. He kicks his legs a bit in the water, watching the ripples until they blend in with the others from the people still in the pool.

If he added a few parts water to the Cadmium blue tube of acryclic paint he has, he could recreate the exact colour of the water before him. A few swipes of a palette knife could recreate the ripples. Washed-out yellows and pinks would suit the swimmers, white could bring out the tile of the pool’s edge. He has the entire scene plotted out in his mind by the time open swim is over, and he gathers Safaa and Waliyha, letting them have time in the locker room to dry off.

If he was alone, he’d slip into the men’s lockers behind Harry and get off with him before the start of whatever swim class is scheduled next. Instead, he smokes a half-cigarette quickly before the girls come out, ready for their walk home. He catches a glimpse of Harry when they pass the door to the pool, waving and smiling a bit. Harry blows a kiss and Zayn laughs, pushing his sisters forward when they try to backtrack after witnessing Harry’s gesture.

“You’ll see plenty of him,” Zayn says. “I promise.”

Harry laughs, clearly having overheard, and Zayn checks that the girls are facing forward before he purses his own lips in a cheesy ‘smooch’ move, ducking out of the doorway and jogging a bit to catch up to his sisters.

“Zayn’s got a boyfriend,” Waliyha teases.

“He’s allowed,” Safaa counters.

“You’re a brilliant little girl,” he reaffirms. “Gonna be the top of your class, just like Wali.”

Waliyha smiles at that and challenges Safaa to a footrace, running ahead of Zayn down the long road that’ll lead them home.

The summer’s not even halfway over and he has a lot to look forward to. He thinks that, for this moment at least, he’s actually managed to stop being jealous of his uni friends and their expensive, luxury holidays on boats or in Spain. Home’s not a bad place to escape to, every once in awhile.

And if ‘home’ happens to include a boy with brown curls and a forgiving heart, well, that’s maybe something for his friends to be jealous of, in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, [come say hi!](http://sa-voix.tumblr.com/)


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